


Forgotten Concepts

by a_pidgeon_in_action



Series: Forgotten Concepts [1]
Category: Heathers (1988), Heathers: The Musical - Murphy & O'Keefe
Genre: F/F, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hurt and comfort, Physical Abuse, Somewhat, cw abuse, it doesn't go into much detail but still, to an /extent/
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-09
Updated: 2020-06-09
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:55:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24634171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_pidgeon_in_action/pseuds/a_pidgeon_in_action
Summary: Heather Chandler has finally cracked
Relationships: Heather Chandler & Veronica Sawyer, Heather Chandler/Heather Duke
Series: Forgotten Concepts [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1785622
Comments: 4
Kudos: 43





	Forgotten Concepts

**Author's Note:**

> GUESS WHO'S STILL ALIVE Y'ALL

It wasn't supposed to end up like this. None of what was happening fit right, and Heather Chandler was quickly overwhelmed with memories of what had happened. How she managed to keep her composure this long shocked her, and as soon as her door was shut, leaning back against it, she let out a sob. An ugly, heart-throbbing sob, followed by more. _ Heather Chandler doesn't cry. _ At least that's what she told herself. It was a facade she could keep up at school, in front of her family, in front of her friends, and Heather was justly proud of that.  _ But no matter how hard you try, you can never fool yourself.  _ A tiny voice in the back of her head whispered, only causing her to sob louder.

Veronica had meant everything to her. Heather didn't know what she did wrong.  _ A lie.  _ She just buried it deep, and locked it away.  _ Because it's always easier to believe you're not the monster.  _ A burst of anger, a searing pain.  _ And the words that cut like knives.  _ Veronica had lashed out, enraged at Heather, and in her fit, she left the Heathers.  _ She left you...  _ It was similar, so  _ fucking similar,  _ to the night of that godforsaken party. Except this time around, it was Veronica who held all the cards. That was the first time in a long time that Heather truly felt powerless. That feeling hadn't left her since.

_ "You're a horrible,  _ disgusting  _ person who only cares about herself!" Veronica shouted. The hallway was relatively empty, and those who did pass through did so quickly, fearing what either girl was capable of doing to them if they lingered too long. Heather did her best to maintain her composure, as Veronica carried on listing every horrible thing Heather had done _ recently. _ Staring at the brunette's forehead was the only thing that kept her from totally losing control or her emotions. She fixated on wrinkles folding and unfolding, subconsciously losing track of whatever Veronica was yelling about now. Whatever it was, it was negative.  _

_ Brown eyes caught blue ones, and Heather managed to zone back in to whatever Veronica was saying now. _

_ "You're a stone cold bitch," Her voice was calm, but the tone was filled with ice and malice. "You're a stone cold bitch, Heather, and I can't believe I ever saw past that." Veronica turned away, "I'm leaving, Heather. I'm resigning my commission from this  _ Lip Gloss Gestapo _ you've got going on here. Don't call. Don't talk to me." Veronica turned around once more, before handing Heather a folded piece of paper. "Goodbye, Heather." _

Heather looked at the crumple up note in her palm. Because of course Veronica would have given her a note to excuse her from school. She was just so god damn  _ considerate _ . Heather uncrumpled the paper, tracing the loops in the words that matched her mother's hand writing to the T. This caused another burst of sobs to erupt from her chest, choking through them. 

She took a couple of breathes, then glanced at the clock on her nightstand.  _ Four hours until mother and father come home...  _ Heather pushed herself up off of the floor, and shuffled over to her bed, grabbing a tissue to wipe away the damp makeup she just ruined, not particularly caring if it stained her cheek or not.  _ Four hours...  _ That was enough time for a nap before dinner.

Metal scraped against the porcelain, a neighbour's dog yapped, and her Father droned on and on about his day. The static of the television, the dripping of the faucet. The phone now ringing, and her mother's voice as she answered it. All of this was driving Heather insane, like the sound was attacking her, trying to destroy her from the inside out. It was a living hell, and unfortunately, it was Heather's.  _ They're just noises! Snap out of it!  _ Wood scraped tile as her mother took her seat again, saying something Heather could hear, but wasn't able to process.

"Heather?" A hand waving in front of her vision. That is what snapped Heather from her agonizing trance. Her mother's face was painted with an expression of faux concern, while her father just scowled.

"Listen to your mother when she's talking, young lady," He snapped. Heather nodded, a sudden wave of tiredness washing over her. "Sit up straight! Stop slouching!" Heather obeyed, like a dog.

"How was school today?" Her mother queried. Heather just shrugged, and went back to rolling her peas around her plate.

"It happened." Heather wasn't sure how she said it exactly, but by the way her father’s face scrunched up, and the faux smile that plastered her mother’s face, she could tell it wasn’t a pleasant tone. 

Before she knew it, her father was yelling, shouting horrible things at her as her mother just watched from the sidelines. Heather tuned it all out again.  _ Veronica was more than enough for today. _ She could feel the words pouring out of her mouth, how they stung when she lashed out. Shouting horrible things back, words she couldn’t hear. Seeing red-hot rage in her father’s eyes, contrasting the ice-cold hatred of Veronica’s, as it grew out of control. He swung at her. She ducked. Before she could properly take it all in she was out the door, in her Porsche, driving to who knows where.

Apparently, who knows where just so happened to be Heather Duke’s house. It had been that way in middle school, when Heather had just needed a break from everything going on. It wasn’t the most welcoming of places, but it was better than the eerie quiet of McNamara’s house, and the fits of rage from her own. She shouldn’t have been as surprised as she did when she found herself parked outside.  _ After all, old habits die hard. _

It was a young boy who answered the door. Heather had seen him before, but not recently. He looked her over, then opened his mouth as if to say something. But he didn’t. An older boy shouted for him to return to another room, just off the foyer.

“She’s in her room.” He said, and left to join his brother in the other room. Heather took the opportunity to navigate her way through the house, up to Duke’s room.  _ One door, two doors, bathroom, Duke’s room. _ She repeated that mantra all the way through the corridor.  _ To keep the anxiety at bay. _

A brief knock on the door frame was all it would have taken. A brief knock and Duke would invite her in, and protect her from the world outside.  _ Why wouldn’t she? _

_ But you’ve hurt her too, _ the voice said.  _ You’ve hurt her so much more than you ever hurt Veronica. Why should she let you in? _ Feelings of guilt built up in her gut. She couldn’t do this. As she turned away, a small shape darted between her and the door. 

“You’ll thank me later,” Hunter said as he knocked and bolted. Heather didn’t have time to react before Duke opened her door, yelling profanities at who she assumed was her brother. Heather flinched at the noise. Duke blinked in surprise. She certainly wasn’t expecting this.

“I thought you were sick?” Heather shrugged.

“I dunno…” 

Duke moved out of the way to let Heather into her room, closing the door behind them. Heather sat on the bed, hugging her midriff like a child to a teddy bear. Duke sat close to her, not so close that they would be touching, but close enough if Heather needed it.

“What happened? Veronica said-” Duke was cut off swiftly.   


“Of course,” Heather spat. “Of course  _ Veronica said _ , why wouldn’t she have.” Heather’s burst of anger evaporated as she felt a hand on her shoulder, fingers cool to the touch. “I’m sorry.” She whispered. 

“You’re forgiven.” Duke crooned gently. “Do you want to tell me what happened?”

“Why are you being nice to me?” Heather whimpered.  _ “Haven’t I done enough to hurt you?” _ Duke just smiled wistfully.

“You’re done with that now,” She sighed. “Right? I don’t think I have to worry about that.”

“I don’t want to hurt people anymore…” Heather lay down, still careful not to touch the girl in green. 

A somewhat comforting silence fell, broken by Duke shuffling closer so Heather had no choice but to rest her head on the shorter girl’s lap. Heather could feel fingers combing through her hair gently. 

“Why don’t you tell me what happened,” Duke asked gently. “We can see how to get back at them in the pettiest of ways.” Heather nodded.

“I do love being petty.” Heather sighed. “But what about Ve-” She cut off quickly. “What about her?” Heather’s face scrunched up before she could get her emotions under control. Hot tears streamed down her face and stained Duke’s shorts. Duke just pulled her up into a hug, as Heather stumbled over her words, recounting what had happened that day. From her fight with Veronica, to the breakdown, to dinner. “Fuck, I hate them  _ all _ .” 

“Why not cut your hair?” Duke passed Heather a tissue. “You want to piss off your parents, right?” Duke got up and started rummaging through her drawers. Pulling out scissors triumphantly, she turned back to Heather with a gleam in her eyes. “Let’s cut your hair.” 

Heather bit her lip. The reactions would be breathtaking, and absolutely worth whatever happened afterward.

“Let’s do it.”

A bit more rummaging around, and a trip for a towel later, Duke had Heather sitting on a stool on a garbage bag. Heather shifted with anxiety, and excitement. In all her seventeen years, she had only gotten trims here and there, cutting off the dead ends. Nothing that was ever to this extreme. 

“How short do you want it?” Duke asked while combing through the tangles.

“Can we start at shoulder length?”

“Of course,” Duke started snipping. 

Heather watched as auburn hair fell to the floor, looking at herself and various objects around the room in Duke’s vanity. As Duke got to her shoulders, Heather started imagining what it would be like to have little to no hair. How the breeze would feel against her neck, how it’d be nice to not die of heat under a mane of hair that was quite frankly difficult to maintain.

“Can you cut it shorter?” 

“Heather, are you sure?” Duke queried. 

“Cut it all off.” Heather wasn’t quite sure where this new-found certainty came from, whether it was from anger towards her parents or complex feelings towards… Someone else. But it was a welcome feeling.

Longer locks of hair gathered on the floor this time. Heather watched Duke’s careful movements in the mirror. She watched until Duke’s actions stopped, Heather’s hair now chin length. Duke turned away to get something from a drawer, and Heather’s attention was drawn to the slight buzzed section under her ponytail. She wondered what it’d be like to touch it. She remembered overwhelming curiosity when Heather had shown up to school one day, when the days were getting to be unbearably scorching after the chill of spring left. She remembered just wanting to feel it, it must have been a nice texture, right? It looked fuzzy. Fuzzy and soft.

“Heather?” Duke hummed in response. “Do you have a pair of clippers?” 

“Yeah,” Duke said. “You want me to buzz it?”

“Not all of it,” Heather wiggled in anticipation. “Just the sides and back, maybe?” 

Duke left the room, returning a few minutes later with the clippers and a couple of hairpins in hand. Humming something to herself, she combed through Heather’s hair once more, pinning it up in places, before chopping off the sides in rough, messy sections.

Heather grimaced at the noise the clippers made against her skull. The feeling was very unwelcoming, and she had to bite her lip to keep from growling at it.

“How do you do this multiple times a month?” Duke simpered.

“Emmy doesn’t like the feeling of these either, don’t worry,” She quipped. The unpleasant feeling against her skull subsided while Duke searched through the container she had pulled them out of. “How short do you want it?”

“As short as it will go.” Heather watched Duke snap the guard off the blades, and mentally prepared herself for the icky sensation as Duke turned the clippers on again. 

It was over much quicker than the first time, now that Duke had guidelines to follow. Heather shrugged the towel around her shoulders off and brought a cautious hand up to her hair. Her hair felt coarse to the touch. She turned to Duke for an explanation, a look of slight contempt on her features.

“It’ll grow out enough for it to be soft by tomorrow, I guarantee you.”

“Where’s your broom?” Heather started. “I feel bad-” Duke scoffed at this. “-at coming over here and helping with a mess.”

“The vacuum’s in the closet,” Duke stretched. “Since you  _ insist _ on cleaning up. But the garbage bag under the stool caught all the hair.” Heather mentally slapped herself.

“Yes, of course.”

The cleanup process went quicker than Heather anticipated. She flopped down on the bed beside Duke, who went back to playing with her hair. Heather leaned into the touch.

“It’s fuzzy,” Duke spectated in awe. “I mean, I know what it feels like, but it’s  _ so fuzzy! _ ”

“Did you suggest I get a haircut so you could play with it?” Chandler beamed.

“Mayhaps.” Duke poked her side teasingly. “Did it work?”

“It did,” Heather purred. “Thank you for this.”

“It was my pleasure, Heather.”

**Author's Note:**

> I may or may not continue this, I do have the concept of the next scene in my head


End file.
